Black Avatare

1 | HUNTER

Darkness approached, banishing the creatures of day to seek shelter, except for the girl out to hunt the dark.

Binara moved through the manor like a wraith, her black-clad form blending into the gloom. The first phase of her mission required stealth—sneaking out under the nose of the governess was no joke.

This was her moment. She could feel it in her bones. Her mother hadn't arrived, despite the holiday season, and a power outage provided her the concealment she needed.

Even as she watched, daylight dimmed, slowly plunging the hallway into shades of dusk. Shadows pooled, and the beasties of the night started their muted chorus. Cityfolk would trickle away into their homes. The house would soon sleep as well, the inhabitants having retired to their rooms. Only one remained at large, prowling the hallways to ensure that all was in order. That was Miss Nayana, the governess—Binara's adversary for Phase One.

She adjusted the straps of her backpack and strained her ears.

There was no clip-clop of shoes, no rustle of skirt or any other noise she associated with Nayana. Instead, the wind hummed a discordant melody, hissing through the trees outside and rattling the odd pane. A scuffing noise added to the soundscape—what she hoped was a palm civet. The whole house creaked and groaned. After all, it had weathered the ravages of time all the way back from the era of kings. The Mayadunne Walauwa took on a life of its own at night. The noises could be traced to natural causes or the estate was haunted—it depended on whom one asked. Binara knew it was both.

Convinced that the coast was clear, she emerged from the hallway and made for the staircase. With every step, her heart pulsed louder. It made her conspicuous in a house full of quiet occupants—both with and without beating hearts. She passed candles that loomed higher than a man, sitting on mounds of wax built up over the centuries. To make matters worse, the shadows shifted, playing tricks on her mind. She shook her head and edged along the banister.

The foyer stretched out below, wallowing under a stained glass skylight with a moonstone pattern. It looked out onto leaden skies dabbed with the purple of twilight—the same hue as her flower hairpin. Her gaze homed in on the front door, so tantalizingly close.

Binara kept going, inching towards the stairs. Her high-tops brushed the floor as light as a cat. One step, two, three—just a few more steps. The wind moaned, and an animal warbled outside, making her jump. She chided herself for letting irrelevant noise get to her. She was a hunter on a mission.

A smile materialized on her lips at the taste of success hovering within grasp and how her deed would rock the city's secretive ghostbusting agency. Just bumbling fools waving coconut flowers. She couldn't help but scoff at their organized "pro" efforts when supernatural activity was at an all-time high. They were too old-fashioned and as social as a herd of buffaloes—with intellect that amounted to that much. Those who thrived were the lone predators—focused, smart and deadly. It was up to her to do the real work.

At the top of the stairs, her leggings snagged on a corner of the banister. She emitted a tutting noise. One last survey of the area, and she was ready for the staircase. She drew in a breath, padded down on nimble feet and halted before the last few steps, which were to be feared.

Binara braced herself as she concentrated her weight on the offending floorboard. It let out a plaintive creak.

A second ticked by. The very house seemed to hold its breath.

She skipped the next step and landed on the last. The ensuing groan might as well have been a bell to awaken the dead. Her heartbeat ratcheted up.

Footsteps thumped on wood, rapidly approaching the foyer from a hallway to her side.